The Devil and the King of Israel
by CrimsonStarbird
Summary: Both had been chosen by God; both, in their own way, had been betrayed by Him. Even so, they were unlikely allies, and even less likely friends.
1. Act I

_**A/N:** Hi all! Basically, I lost a bet, and so here's a short piece centred around my least favourite character of Makai Ouji and another who never even appears on-screen. It's five conversations between the two of them, taking place at regular intervals over the space of about 8 years - my attempt to explain their shared history. And it's not even slightly canon. I don't know where most of this came from..._

_I would say that I hope you have more fun reading this than I did when I was writing it, but I'm not sure that's physically possible. Enjoy! ~CS_

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><p><strong>The Devil and the King of Israel, Act I<strong>

_By CrimsonStarbird_

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><p>"Angel!"<p>

He opened his eyes to the sound of that incredulous voice. Unperturbed by the alien surroundings, or by the stranger who had spoken, he stretched; first with lithe arms and then with his great feathered wings. Many things were as he remembered: the breeze caressing his hair, the weight on his feet, the dryness of the air and the thirst of skin in the heat. These were the things that would never change.

"Ha! I actually did it! I summoned an angel!"

Many things were different. He glanced at the boy who had spoken, found him utterly uninteresting, and proceeded to examine his surroundings instead. Sun on stone and wind on stone; this was the dwelling place of humans, who feared nature's touch. There were many curiosities, things which had not been there to see the last time he had come to this world.

He took a step forwards and found that the motion came easily to him. The crisscross of ribbons around his lower legs tightened and relaxed with familial ease; mites of dust in the air swayed and danced with every step he took. He proceeded to explore the room in which he found himself with happy obliviousness.

"But- but-!" The triumphant declaration of victory became a startled stammer with barely a moment's pause. "You can't do that!"

He looked at the boy, and spoke himself, for the first time, with perfect curiosity. "Why ever not?"

"Because I've summoned and bound you, Angel! By the ancient rites, you must remain inside the magic circle-"

The one that the boy had called Angel cast an innocent glance over his shoulder, as if surprised to see the circle of chalk runes which he had left behind a long time ago. With a casual 'who, me?' shrug, he resumed his exploration.

"But I don't understand!" protested the boy. "You should be bound, for I am your master! I called you here and I – hey!"

Angel, who had not been listening, had reached the boy's most precious corner of the room, where necessary furniture and signs of regular living were replaced by towers of books. They would have been stacked to the ceiling if the boy could reach that high. Each one was leather-bound and handwritten; each one was clearly treasured by the boy, if he was indeed their owner, and each one was far more important than he was. Still, to him, they were as uninteresting as their student. He drew his finger across the top of one pile, frowning, and raised it towards his face as if – of all things – he was checking for dust.

"It's not like I have time to clean this whole room! I have far more important things to be doing!"

"Like what?" Mild amusement; an adult indulging a child.

"Like summoning beings from other planes and binding them to my will!"

The one called Angel glanced at the boy, as if seeing him for the first time. "And how's that working out for you?"

"Don't mock me, Angel! I was given this power and this right, for I am Solomon the Wise, the son of King David, and I have been chosen by God!"

"Oh?" In such a lilting, melodious voice, that single sound was politely curious and subtly mocking. "A child like you, the chosen of God?"

"I'm not a child! I'm ten years old!"

"That seems somewhat contradictory," Angel mused.

"I'll teach you to make fun of me! I have summoned you, and I am your master!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes! My Ring of Wisdom is my witness; the magic circles drawn in my blood mark our contract, and by my power I have summoned and bound you-"

"Sure, sure." Bored again, he optimistically turned back to the piles of books. Even that couldn't be without incident; one of his wings, far too cumbersome in this physical form, sent a literary tower tumbling to the ground.

"Hey! Watch where you're going! And pick those up!"

"Do it yourself."

Comically enraged, the boy had one foot in the air before he stopped himself with a sharp intake of breath. "Wait! I see through your ploy, foul creature!"

"Hmm?" Barely listening.

"You're trying to make me leave the circle, aren't you? The first rule of summoning is not to leave your protective circle – everyone knows that!" Everyone who knew that also knew the reasoning behind it: the summoned creature ought not to be able to leave the magic circle you bound them into unless you first left yours, which seemed a little redundant in this situation. But in lieu of experience, the boy Solomon had only instinct to go on, and pride. "Well, tough luck. I'm too smart for you!"

"Oh no, my evil plan has been foiled, whatever shall I do?"

"Ha." Solomon folded his arms, skin too pale from lack of sunlight crossed over an even paler cloth robe. "What you're going to do is obey my commands, for I am your master, Angel!" Angel had resumed his exploration of the room, forcing Solomon to turn on the spot to keep an eye on him without crossing the line of the circle of runes. "And I order you – wait, stand still! – to grant my wish!"

"Oh?"

A satisfied smirk. "That's right- whoa!"

Without warning, Angel had leaned in over the circle's boundary and seized the boy's hand. The action was sudden, but not malicious; after the initial shock – Solomon was fairly certain he remembered reading that nothing he summoned should have been able to cross that magical circumference – it was indignation that caused him to try and pull his hand away. The other was having none of it. Though his fingers were gentle, they had the strength of iron, and he barely seemed to notice Solomon's distressed flailing.

He peered closely at the silver ring the boy wore on his finger. It was far too extravagant for an ordinary young boy of such a humble – the mountains of books excluded here – residence. No – it was the heritage of a king, and Angel, who knew such things better than anyone, could feel the authority it commanded. He reached out a finger to touch it before thinking better of it.

"I see," he remarked cheerfully, releasing the boy's hand at the same instant that Solomon decided to put all of his strength into pulling free. As a result, Solomon went flying backwards, tripped over a stick of chalk he had left just outside the summoning circle, and ended up sprawled flat on his back.

He pushed himself into a sitting position to glare up at Angel, who blinked innocently. "You did that on purpose!"

"Who, me? Never."

Solomon glanced angrily from the two now-vacant summoning circles to the great winged being standing in the centre of the room, and sighed. His eyes closed; his shoulders slumped. "Oh, what's the use? Go away. I'll dismiss you, or whatever."

"Really?" He seemed disappointed. "But then I won't get to hear your wish."

"Now you're just making fun of me."

"No, really, I'm all curious now."

The boy pouted. "I don't care any more."

"Then what was all that 'I summoned you, I am your master' about? I suppose you're just a child without conviction, after all."

"Stop calling me a child!"

Angel cocked his head to one side and waited. "I guess," Solomon muttered eventually, pushing himself to his feet and brushing himself down ineffectually, "That if you are going to grant my wish after all… you could probably stay a bit longer."

Angel removed a pile of books from the only chair in the room, despite Solomon's threatening glare, and sat down. With his oversized wings, it was difficult to get comfortable, but it was important for effect. "So, what is it you desire so much?" he asked, placing his hands together in his lap.

"What I want… what I _really _want – is to go outside."

They looked at each other in the silence. He was serious. Slowly, deliberately, Angel raised his hand and pointed at the door. When Solomon continued looking at him, still waiting for something dramatic to happen, he inquired, "Have you tried the door?"

"Of course I tried the door! It's locked, and my father has the only key. Even if it wasn't, it's kept guarded day and night by my father's soldiers. I'm a prisoner, here in this room. I've never been allowed to go anywhere else for as long as I can remember."

"I see. I suppose that makes this marginally more interesting."

"But every day," Solomon continued, "I sit at the window and I can see the world below. There's a town out there, and people to talk to, and traders and storytellers and even a library – where they have even more books than I do, can you believe that? I've read about all these things, but I've never been able to experience them, for I'm trapped in here. So that's why my wish is to go outside for a day, and see what the world is really like."

There was a long pause. Halfway through Solomon's speech, Angel had decided that the chair was too uncomfortable after all, and had stood up. Now he was too busy trying to straighten his wings to notice Solomon had finished speaking until the boy prompted, "So, what do you think?"

"Hmm? About what?"

"Well, you have wings, so I was thinking you could easily fly me out of the window and down to the market place. Then I can explore the city, and you can bring me back here at nightfall, and the king would never have to know that I was gone. What do you think?"

"Not interested, sorry."

"You are bound to obey my commands, Angel!"

"But helping out with such a mundane wish sounds so boring. For a moment, I really thought you were harbouring a fascinating secret desire."

Solomon frowned. "Like what?"

"Like, I don't know, becoming king."

"King? Why would I want to be the king?"

"Well, for starters, you wouldn't have to use forbidden summoning magic every time you wanted someone to talk to."

Scarlet embarrassment crept across Solomon's pale cheeks. "I did not call you here because I was lonely, it was so that you could fulfil my wish!"

"But it's such a boring wish!" Restless, Angel began pacing again, losing all interest in the boy once more.

"I don't think it's boring! And at least look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Angel did not. He was over by the single window now, drawn by the warmness of the breeze on his wings. He placed his hands on the stone sill and looked out over the town below; at the sandy buildings and the ant-like people. "Let me put it this way," he began. "What if, in your entire life, you only had one wish, and you spent it like that?"

"It'd be worth it, for that one day."

"In what way?"

"I'd be able to see things I've only read about, for one thing."

"And how will that help? Do you really think you'd be content with that? Once you've seen these things, once you've been free for a day, once you've seen the truth of the world out there, do you truly believe that you'll ever be satisfied being a prisoner for the rest of your life?"

"Yes." Stubborn, that boy, and still most certainly a child.

"It will change nothing for the better, and much for the worse, because you will be all the more aware of what you did not have, and will never have again."

"But-"

"Do you think that it will make you any happier, or any less worthless? You'll still be powerless. You'll still be a prisoner. If you ever want to achieve anything, you'll be dependent on others to help you for the rest of your life. To have but one wish, and to waste it on something so fleeting…"

"Shut up!" Solomon suddenly yelled. "Okay, so maybe it was a stupid wish. But it's still better than your idea!"

"Why?"

"I have absolutely no intention of being king. Leadership and responsibilities don't interest me at all. It's someone else's job. I only want to stay here and learn."

"Aren't you the son of the current king?"

"Only by blood; by name, he refuses to acknowledge me as an heir, and has locked me up here. Which suits me fine."

"Apart from not being able to see the outside world."

"Apart from that, which has no bearing whatsoever on me not being concerned with ruling anywhere."

"Also your utter powerlessness, and your contentment to live out your entire life as a prisoner."

"There are ways of achieving power in this world other than by becoming king."

"Not for you," Angel said, and smiled. Finally turning back to the room, he perched on the stone windowsill with white wings raised behind him, fixing the boy with bright eyes. "Unless the king is defeated, you will never leave this room."

Small, uncomfortable, and maybe even a little afraid. But still Solomon said, "So be it. I bear no ill will towards my father, and I have no wish to see him killed; not now, nor when I am old enough to rule myself."

"Very noble of you. Very short-sighted, and very foolish, of course. But even that would be acceptable, if it were the truth that you spoke."

"It _is _the truth!"

"Then are you to tell me that you have never desired revenge on your father, nor dreamt about claiming your birth-right, or finally achieving the freedom and power that presently you can only imagine?"

"I… I've thought about it. But it was never going to be a reality, so I gave it up, and I'm happy now."

"I can make it possible."

"Angel…" It was spoken as a warning, but not to the other.

"I am certain of it. Not now, but when you are old enough, you will become the king, and you will have true freedom. Something to fight for, and a reason to live – if you only had one wish, wouldn't that be a much better use for it than a single day-trip, soon over and quickly forgotten?"

"I… no! You're just trying to confuse me! I don't hate my father, I don't want to overthrow him, and I certainly don't ever want to be king!" At his side, his hands balled into fists. "Get out of here, Angel! I don't want to listen to your lies any more!

Angel had no intention of going anywhere, not now that things were getting interesting. "I believe you! Really, I do. But won't you just explain one thing to me?"

"What's that?" Solomon demanded, suspiciously.

"If it's true that you never want to be king, then why are you still wearing the Ring of Wisdom?"

"I don't know what you mean by that," the boy responded, and it was a lie.

"The ring that symbolizes wisdom; that was given to you, a mere child, by God himself, along with powers that men can only dream of – if you truly don't seek power, why do you wear it so proudly? If you don't wish to rule, then why summon me and bind me and seek to make me follow your orders? If you are truly content with living a pathetic life, safe within the walls of your prison, with only the dusty words of men far greater than you for company, then why do you introduce yourself as the one who was chosen by God? To prove your worth, to flaunt your own power, to see what you were truly capable of - isn't that the real reason why you called me here?"

"I… you… but…"

"You weren't given the wisdom of kings by God so that you could waste it in this prison for eternity. You were meant for so much more, and you know it."

"And you… can make it real?"

"Is it not the purpose of man's being to strive for more than he has? It is acceptable to dream; it is important to believe. You were chosen for a reason. If that is your wish, then I can promise you that it will come to pass."

Solomon averted his gaze. His hands were tight fists; the silver ring, worn on his thumb as it was still too big for his fingers, glittered in the shadows. "Then do it, Angel."

Only silence followed his solemn words. Silence, and guilt, and insecurity, and doubt. "Angel-" the boy tried again, looking back to the window, but the other had vanished. Alarmed, he glanced around, but he couldn't possibly have missed that figure. He ran to the window and leaned out, but the white-winged being he had named Angel was neither above nor below. He had gone.

After all, there was no longer a reason for him to stay. Children were boring, and far too easily swayed – even those, so it seemed, that God had chosen. It had been a pleasant diversion, while it had lasted, but the boy, though promising, had proven no different from any of the others in the end.


	2. Act II

_**A/N:** The anachronisms are my friends. Please don't be mean to them :) ~CS_

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><p><strong>The Devil and the King of Israel, Act II<strong>

_By CrimsonStarbird_

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><p>"Well, if it isn't Solomon the Wise!"<p>

The room was thick with smoke and dust; the former swallowing the sunlight and the latter glittering golden and reflecting it in all directions. It was probably his own doing. He didn't pay enough attention to the effect his power had on the human world. The ethereal glow should have made it difficult for anyone suddenly appearing in the room to adjust to their surroundings, but he didn't need his eyes to know who that figure in front of him was.

"Hello again, Angel." He sounded more subdued than Angel remembered, but that might just have been the thickness of the air, and the time it often took him to adjust to being in this world again.

"How's becoming king going?" he asked brightly.

"I knew you were going to say that, and it doesn't faze me, not one bit," Solomon replied, with all the coolness he could possibly muster.

"If that's the case, then I'm a little disappointed that in two years you couldn't come up with a humorous retort."

Two years seemed like a safe bet. He hadn't been counting, but only the very foolish would believe that beneath his casual airs, he wasn't noticing every little detail in his surroundings. Solomon was older, if not by much; still a child, but his defiant hands-on-hips posture looked a little less like a tantrum now and a little more severe. The boy still wore the same style grubby white robe as he had when they first met – in fact, going by its almost-comical shortness, it was probably the exact same one.

The state of the room had been treated with the same neglect as his body's own appearance: identical but messier, with the idea of re-decorating completely out of the question. The books were piled higher, though, for Solomon was taller now, and there were battered treatises on angels and demons that he was sure hadn't been there last time. The Ring of Wisdom had been transferred from his thumb to his middle finger; Angel thought this a somewhat optimistic move, for though Solomon had grown, the semi-automatic way he pushed it back up to his knuckle every time it slipped down was all too revealing.

"I've been busy, alright?"

"So I see." To his surprise, Solomon seemed nervous. When no response from the boy seemed forthcoming, he prompted, "So, what did you want me for this time? Got any more secret wishes for me to discover?"

"Well, if you're going to be like that-!"

"Like what? What am I doing _now_?"

"Angel!" Solomon snapped, losing what little patience he had managed to muster over those two years. "I have summoned you and I have bound you-"

"Oh, here we go again."

"-and as your master, I command you: bring me some new books!"

There was silence. "Wait, what?" Angel blinked.

"You heard me." Solomon waved a hand at the stacks of books that were slowly but surely taking over the room. "I've read all these ten times each already, and I'm bored. Even Aristotle can become tiresome after that many iterations. So I'm asking you – no, I'm ordering you! Bring me some new ones."

"You called me all the way here just because you ran out of things to read?"

"Just do it, already! It's not too difficult a task for you, is it?"

"I'm going, I'm going!" Under Solomon's haughty glare, he strode to the window and leaned out. The sun was warm upon his skin. He glanced back at the boy, stood with his arms folded in the centre of a new magic circle – this one drawn and re-drawn until every single line and rune and sacred symbol was absolutely perfect – and wondered. But why not?

Angel heaved a sigh, and then the sombre being became a blur of motion. His bare foot touched the stone windowsill without a sound and pushed off again in the same instant, and in a rush of wind and a flurry of feathers he was gone into the blue sky beyond.

When he returned, he brought with him books. There was a pile of them in his arms, of all sizes and descriptions. Some were bound in leather, others in less savoury material; likewise, some were written in blood and smeared in ash. He didn't think that Solomon would much care where the books came from, and he would undoubtedly find these very interesting indeed.

He landed silently on the windowsill and was about to announce his return when he heard his name – or rather, the name that Solomon had given him. And yet the boy wasn't looking at him, but pacing instead, and talking to himself. Bemused, Angel settled down in the window to listen. So engrossed in his own monologue, Solomon was totally oblivious of the other's presence.

"Angel, I've been wanting to say this to you for the past two years… no, that's not right. Calm down, Solomon; think! Since we first met I've been thinking about you – no no no, that's definitely not what I'm trying to say! Aagh! I had this sorted out – why didn't I write it down while I remembered?"

"It's a good job you've never met a girl, that's all I'm saying."

"Aah!" Angel's sudden interruption startled him so much that he even fell over. Wide-eyed with panic and embarrassment, it didn't even occur to him to get to his feet, and he stared up at the other from the floor. Perhaps he thought that the closer he was to the ground, the more easily it could be tempted to open up and swallow him. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," Angel told him cheerfully. Hopping down from the window ledge, he picked up the books once more and deposited them in a pile next to the prone boy. "I brought you books," he added, unnecessarily.

Solomon looked at the books as if they were a token of appeasement, and instantly forgave the other. "Let me see." He pushed himself into a sitting position and reached for the top book of the pile. "Hmm… what's this? I can't read this!"

"Learn," Angel said, and for the first time, he seemed to be serious.

Still Solomon protested. "I can't just learn an entire language on my own without any kind of translation! This isn't any language spoken by man, is it? Angel!" He heaved a sigh. "I suppose it's back to Aristotle for me, then."

Angel responded dryly, "And I had such high hopes for you."

Fixing him with a stern glare, Solomon accused him, "Is teasing me really that much fun?"

"Of course not. If it were, I'd have stuck around the first time." Solomon snorted. His gaze drifted back to the pile of books. Angel thought his guess had probably been right. "Well, if you've got no more errands for me to run, then I have important things to be doing-"

As he turned to leave, Solomon grabbed his hand. "Don't go."

It was the contact more than the force that stopped Angel. He extracted himself quickly from Solomon's grip, but he didn't leave. There was curiosity in his voice, and maybe it was genuine. "Why ever not?"

"You're lonely, aren't you?"

"What on earth gave you that idea?"

"Just intuition. But I'm right, aren't I?"

"Perhaps, though certainly not for the company of one such as you."

To his surprise, Solomon grinned. "Oh, I know _that_. But I'm older now, and wiser. And there was something I was wanting to talk to you about… something I've been trying to find the courage to call you back here to say for the past two years."

"Oh, your confession? I've been looking forward to this!"

It was a mark of how earnest Solomon was about this conversation that not only did he not fly into a tantrum, but he actually managed a small smile instead. Perhaps he was growing up, after all. "You'd be so lucky. But won't you take me seriously, just for a minute or two?"

Angel raised his eyebrows. "You've made me curious now." Solomon was still on the floor so he sat down opposite him, cross-legged on the sun-warmed stones. His white wings stretched out on either side, dwarfing both of them. "So, what is it?"

"I've been thinking-"

"Dangerous words."

"Shut up, and let me speak."

"Sorry." He wasn't remotely sorry, but he did temporarily stop interrupting.

"I've been thinking about what happened last time we met. I was naïve and stupid. I let you make me angry, and then I let you get the better of me." In a seemingly-unconscious gesture, he drew one knee up to his chest, rested his chin on it, and stared at the ground. Respectfully, Angel let him think. "You toyed with my emotions and pushed me further than I wanted to go. You made a fool out of me just because you could. For a long time, I was angry, and I hated you for that."

Angel was sorely tempted to interrupt, but even more tantalizing was the thought of what might be said if he let Solomon speak. There would always be more humans he could play games with, but maybe, just maybe-

"Except that's an unfair assessment. It wasn't really you I was angry with, but myself. I was the one to blame, not you. You were mean, but I was weak. If I hadn't secretly harboured such feelings – if such greedy, loathsome darkness wasn't already a part of me, no matter how much I might have tried to bury it – you would never have been able to manipulate my thinking like that. So, given that, how could I resent what you did?"

Drumming his fingers on the bare stone slabs, Angel mused, "So, in short, you called me here after two years just to tell me that I was right? I'm flattered, but really, you needn't have bothered."

"I'm not done," Solomon smiled. "Though I do feel better now that you know I don't resent you."

"If you say so," Angel said neutrally, ceasing his tapping and placing his hands together in his lap.

"Why is having dark thoughts the mark of an evil man? Is it not the case that the greatest man in the eyes of God is not he who never encounters temptation, but he who passes through the most and still comes out whole on the other side? So I think that the man who encounters adversity, and overcomes it, is the strongest. It may be true that some part of me seeks to rule the kingdom, and the power that comes with that. I can't deny that that darkness lives somewhere in my heart. But… the truth remains that I have no intention of taking up arms against my father. I won't do it. I won't ever be king. If it means that I'll be locked in this room for the rest of my life, then so be it – that's what I'll choose, and that's what I'll do.

"This is how I see it: you showed me the truth about myself, and now I'll show you that I have the power to overcome that, and forge a new path with my own two hands. I'm going to fight, Angel – and I'm going to beat you."

"Oh?" Angel mused. "How interesting."

"So? What do you say?"

"Do as you wish," came the calm response.

"Don't worry, I will." Solomon got to his feet with a smile on his face. "And I won't consider you an enemy. If you're ever lonely, or bored, you'll always be welcome here."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Angel, noncommittally.

Solomon looked at him directly, snorted, and waved his hand at his new books. "But not now. Get out of here. I have important things to do."

"Such a fickle master."

But Solomon only laughed, and when he looked again, Angel had gone.


	3. Act III

_**A/N:** Something a bit more serious this time! Pretty much all the credit for this backstory goes to Kaori Yuki. It just worked far too well here for me not to borrow it. If you haven't read Angel Sanctuary, then you definitely should! ~CS_

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><p><strong>The Devil and the King of Israel, Act III<strong>

_By CrimsonStarbird_

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><p>"I'm bored."<p>

When only silence followed this proclamation, Solomon tried again. "Angel, I'm bored."

"Not my problem."

"I beg to differ."

From his perch atop a leaning tower of books, so high that his head almost brushed the grand ceiling, Angel narrowed his eyes at the boy. "And why is that?"

Solomon sat cross-legged on the floor, not seeming to mind that he had to crane his neck to look up at the other. Around him there was a carefully-drawn circle of white chalk, decorated as usual with unholy symbols and ancient words of binding; just outside the circle lay no fewer than five open books, all turned to pages showing different diagrams of pentacles, labelled in a language that no guard coming in that door to find out what the prisoner was up to would have been able to understand. Beyond the books and the chalk, almost as an afterthought, there stood a jug of water. A thin layer of dust floated on its surface.

"For starters," he lectured, "You're the only person I've ever had a proper conversation with. Even the guards who bring me food don't really talk to me, and certainly not about anything interesting. I told you to visit, but you never do, so I'm lonely, and it's your fault. And if that wasn't enough to make it your problem, I had no choice but to summon you again to try and make my life more entertaining. If you leave, I'll just call you back again. So it's in your best interests to save me from boredom, don't you think?"

Angel rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. "No, what I think is that I have better things to do than babysit children."

"I'm not a child, as I told you ages ago."

"You sure sound like a child."

"Look at me, then."

With a sigh, he did, and saw– "Is that a new robe?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah."

"Did you put it on just for me? I'm honoured."

"Wait, what?" Solomon's pale face turned scarlet. "What are you trying to insinuate? My old clothes were so dirty and small that I asked the guards for some new ones, and one of them took pity on me and brought me this yesterday – so I put it on, that's all; the timing was just a coincidence."

"It's very sweet of you," Angel continued, not paying any attention to his words.

"It's a coincidence, okay? It's not because of you…" Solomon looked away sullenly; stuck his bottom lip out like the child he kept insisting he was not. "I don't get many visitors, alright? And – hey, stop trying to change the subject!"

"What, surely you're not telling me you're still bored? I'm finding this subject _very_ entertaining."

"I don't care about you."

"Rude."

"Well, you're mean."

Angel put his head to the side and smiled slightly. "You knew that, and yet you summoned me anyway. Which of us is really to blame here?"

"Fine," Solomon relented. And then: "Tell me a story, Angel."

"And still you claim that you're not a child."

"I'm not. I would merely like to hear a story from you."

"I don't tell stories."

"Then tell me about you. After all, I'm sure you know everything about me, whereas I know very little about you. Besides, you're lonely too, aren't you?" Angel said nothing, so Solomon added, "Please?"

And he gave a sweet smile. He was at that age that teetered between childhood and adult years, but where most teenagers were an awkward blend of the two, Solomon seemed to have acquired the best of both worlds. He somehow maintained the charm of his childhood years in his sweet, boyish face, but there also lurked that sophisticated and dangerous elegance that promised, when he finally entered adulthood, to make him into a handsome man indeed. It was a shame he was never going to leave this room.

"Alright then, I'll tell you a story," Angel sighed. Solomon shuffled himself into a more comfortable position, while the other's gaze moved past him to the wall, and to whatever memories he was seeing within the stone.

"Once upon a time," he began, because he had to start like that, "Two angels were born. They were brothers: the elder was named Lucifer, the Morning Star, and the younger was Michael, the Guardian of Fire. They loved each other dearly and all of Heaven rejoiced.

"Yet all was not well, for there was a prophecy; a decree set down by God. There was evil in the world, evil which had come from the hearts of men, to whom He had given free will. It was not a part of His grand plan, and all of Heaven had quickly come to realize that the promise of eternal pleasure was not enough to convince mankind to turn away from sin. So they came up with a plan. If Heaven could convince mankind – could convince themselves – that the source of all evil was external and dangerous instead of innate, then perhaps human beings could be persuaded to reject it and side with God as the hero in the eternal war between good and evil. He needed a scapegoat. And so the prophecy said simply this: one of the brothers was to become the greatest of all the angels, who would lead the army of Heaven and punish sinners in God's name. The other would fall from God's grace and be cast out of Heaven forever.

"Time passed, and the brothers grew. The difference between the two of them was plain to see. Lucifer outshone his younger brother in every possible way. He was handsome, strong, charismatic, a natural leader, and always calm and composed. Older angels came to him for advice; younger ones looked up to him. He excelled in everything he attempted, and mastered everything that he set out to learn. By contrast, Michael was weak, small, and physically underdeveloped. Plus he was rash, short-tempered, extremely impatient, and always picking fights. He lost in battle to his brother over and over, until Lucifer grew tired of accepting his challenges. As if this wasn't bad enough, he was always being compared to his elder brother. If he failed at a task, it didn't matter how inherently difficult it was, or how many people had failed it before him: if Lucifer had managed it, then that was all they cared about. Anyone would resent that.

"Still, Michael never stopped trying. He worked harder than anyone else in Heaven; pushed himself beyond his limits every single day in an attempt to prove himself. Everything, to him, was a competition. He took all the disappointment aimed at him and used it to drive himself harder, never stopping in his goal to one day surpass his brother. And that sheer determination would have been enough to win over anyone, were it not for God's prophecy.

"All the angels were convinced that Michael was the brother who was destined to fall from grace. After all, how could perfect Lucifer be anything other than the greatest of angels whose coming His words had foretold? Because of this they shunned Michael. They reviled him, and treated him as if he were already a traitor. Even as they hurt him, broke him, drove him to desperation and perhaps even to madness, and still he refused to turn away from his chosen path, they were too foolish to see what was obvious to Lucifer, as he watched and did nothing: that Michael, in his idiotic stubborn-to-a-fault defiance, was far greater an angel than those who tormented him could ever dream of being.

"Had the brothers have been born in another time, in another world, they could have lived happily, and chosen their own paths. But God had done for them what He had done for all angels, and what He was trying to do to mankind also: He had forced them into a role, chosen a destiny for them both, and they were helpless to do anything about it. Servants of God had no choice in life. If He desired for them to suffer as part of His grand plan, then that was what they would do, and no amount of determination or physical power could change that. If He had already decided that Lucifer would be the greatest of all the angels, then all of Michael's efforts were for nothing, and all of Lucifer's own accomplishments were worthless.

"And so it came to pass shortly afterwards that an army marched on Heaven just as the prophecy had foretold, but the one at its head was Lucifer.

"The angels were forced to accept Michael as their champion; as much as he detested their sudden change of heart, he had finally been given his chance to prove that he had surpassed his older brother. The two met outside the Gates of Eden, and fought in single combat.

"Seizing his chance, Michael gave the battle his all. Lucifer did not. He refused to use his true power; he threw the match. After he won, Michael became Heaven's hero. At long last, everyone finally believed that he had surpassed his brother and become the most powerful of all the angels. Only the two of them knew the truth.

"Michael believed that Lucifer had not considered him a worthy enough opponent to unleash his true powers upon. Knowing that the only victory he had ever won in his life was a false one, Michael began to despise his brother, and, as the leader of Heaven's army ever after, he promised to destroy every one of his brother's followers and one day defeat him for real. For his part, with everyone believing he had been truly beaten by Michael, Lucifer left Heaven for the last time and became the first fallen angel, the enemy of Heaven for evermore."

Solomon, who considered that he had done very well to avoid interrupting before that point, took the following long pause to be certain confirmation that the speech was over and the floor was open for questions. He demanded, "But wasn't that exactly what God wanted?"

"I am certain of it. God always intended for Lucifer to be the one to fall."

"Then why did he do it? Why not stay in Heaven with Michael?"

"Because either way, he would lose," Angel explained, patiently. "To stay in Heaven would be to submit to God; to continue acting as though His way was the right one; to promote the forcing of the same awful destinies and terrible choices upon future generations. At least this way, even though he was ultimately doing what God had intended for him to do, he could be vocal about his opposition to Heaven's schemes, and perhaps live to change them."

"I still don't understand."

Angel sighed. "I suppose there was also selfishness, and greed. The self-centred pursuit of some kind of freedom. The egotistical belief that one person can change how things work. The desire to be seen as a hero, or a villain; the foolish sense of superiority that comes from standing for _something_, whatever that something might have been. Being seen to be defiant and admirable by those who didn't fully understand. Who can say?"

"Hmm. I think he might also have done it for Michael."

"You'd be wrong." No humour in his voice. There hadn't been for a while.

"How so?"

"Because he knew better than to pity Michael. It would only make things worse. The only time he ever showed pity towards his little brother was when he threw the final battle at the Gates of Eden… and that was the first time that Michael truly despised him. Before that, he had envied him, and he had resented him more than a little, but it was only afterwards that Michael began to hate him."

Solomon suggested, "I think you can love someone weaker than you without pitying them."

"If you say so." But Angel's tone of voice had changed. No longer was it solemn, but it had returned to the semi-patronizing tone of an adult who was simply going along with what a child was saying for the sake of avoiding an unresolvable conflict. Solomon wondered when he had begun to be able to detect that tone, and changed the subject.

"Are you angry?"

"Angry?" Sharp eyes danced back to the boy.

"With God. For what happened."

"Are you angry with your father, for locking you in here and making you suffer through a life of loneliness and captivity?"

Solomon thought for a while. "That rather depends on my mood. Sometimes I am, when things are bad and the nights are long. But at other times – well, this is the only life I have ever known. I could resent what has been done, or I could keep living and learning and making the most of what I have. If I were in my father's position, I'd probably have done the same thing, so I can't hate him for that. Nor can I dream about an ordinary life and be angry that that was taken from me, any more than I can detest the king for happening to meet my mother and end up being my father. And it's not like I'm unhappy. Sometimes I am, but then every once in a while something happens that makes me glad I'm living this life – like meeting you. When you're around, Angel, I'm not angry – except maybe sometimes at you. I'm grateful. Do you see?"

"Then I guess that's my answer too." But he was careful, and his emotions were very controlled, as ever. Nor was he about to help Solomon work him out, adding, "Well, without the whole 'meeting you' bit. You're interesting and all, but I really don't think about you in quite that way-"

"Again!" Solomon shouted. "I was just trying to be nice, and you twisted my words, again!"

Angel laughed – and then he fell. It was as if someone had snapped their fingers and all the life had suddenly gone from him. He fell sideways like a ragdoll, tumbling off the top of the tower of books.

Before Solomon could so much as cry out, Angel had come back to himself. He rolled over in mid-air, wings flaring, eyes flashing, and amidst a flurry of books and paper he landed in a crouch, both feet and one hand on the ground, with his wings outstretched to their fullest extent.

"Angel!" Heedless of the ancient pages of text still raining down upon the room, Solomon ran to him. "Are you alright?" He reached out a hand but before he could touch the other, Angel had seized his wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Don't," was all he said.

Solomon sulked, "I was only trying to help."

Angel let go of him and stood up slowly. After a few careful moments, he seemed to visibly relax. Still, he said nothing, so Solomon pressed, "What happened? Are you alright?"

"I lost my balance, and fell. That's all. It happens to the best of us."

So, he didn't want to talk about it. Solomon supposed it was his turn to be indulgent. Maybe he was old enough now for that. "Well, it's reassuring to see that even you can make mistakes." Angel gave a strained smile; his mind was still elsewhere. Solomon searched for a topic that would bring him back. "Were you really so superior to Michael?"

"I may have exaggerated slightly. Michael has his good points. Not that I can think of any right now, but…"

Solomon grinned. At least the other was paying attention to him again. "Would your enormous wealth of talents happen to lend themselves to clearing up?"

The room looked as if an earthquake had hit it. A domino-like toppling of book towers had resulted in the entire room being covered in loose pages and upended volumes, not to mention the tumbled furniture and dusting of white feathers everywhere. "Afraid not," said Angel, cheerful once again. "I ought to go back home."

"Of course you do," Solomon growled. "Ah, well. At least clearing up this mess will keep me occupied for a while. It's not like I had the books in any particular order anyway."

"How's the studying going?"

"Awfully. I can't make sense of any of the books you gave me. I can only get so far with the diagrams and the labels, and by comparing them to similar technical images in some of my other books on summoning… I just can't make any headway on the texts themselves. There's only so much I can do when I can't even identify the language they're written in."

"Ah," commented Angel.

"You're disappointed, aren't you?"

"Not at all. It was always going to be an impossible task for a human."

"Ouch. Well, if that's the case, I'll have to work extra hard to prove you wrong. Alright, get out of here and let me put my room back in order."

"Going, going."

"And my offer is still open, if you ever want to drop by of your own accord. Provided you're more careful with my belongings, of course."

"Okay."

"…You're still not going to visit, are you?"

"I might."

Solomon laughed. "That'll be the day. Alright, scoot. I've got some interior design to be getting on with."


	4. Act IV

_**A/N:** Everything will be explained. Just not this chapter :P__ On another note, I discovered in this chapter that it's surprisingly fun to write a huge rant on a subject you know literally nothing about :P Apologies to anyone out there who actually studies ancient texts... ~CS_

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><p><strong>The Devil and the King of Israel, Act IV<strong>

_By CrimsonStarbird_

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><p>"Back again, Angel?"<p>

Sitting at ease in the windowsill, Angel said nothing. He had made no sound when he arrived, and Solomon's back was turned to him as he sat on the floor hunched over at least three open treatises, but Solomon had known he was there anyway. He was becoming far too astute for a human.

"I know I said that you could come by any time you wanted, but I do have important things to be doing, and I would occasionally like some time alone in order to get on with them, Angel."

As was customary, Angel ignored the gist of the words meant for him. "Why do you still call me that?"

"Why do you still appear before me like that?" He wasn't expecting an answer, and didn't receive one. "It doesn't matter what you look like, you'll always be my angel."

"Aww, you're so sweet."

"…You're misinterpreting my words again, aren't you?"

"Not at all."

"Hmm. Now, is there something you wanted?"

"I'm bored."

"Not my problem."

"I get the feeling that you're setting double standards here."

"Alright then, I'll read you something. _Now a definition of motion has been given above, from which it will be seen that every goal of motion, whether it be a form, an affection, or a place, is immovable, as, for instance, knowledge_-"

"Solomon," interrupted Angel, bemused.

"What? I'm trying to work here, you know!"

"On something as mundane as Aristotle's _Physics_?"

"I suppose not," Solomon admitted.

"How are you getting on with my books? Still lost?"

"No! I'm making a great deal of progress, actually!"

"Oh?"

His eyes brightening, Solomon closed the volume he was reading and shuffled round on the floor so that he was facing Angel. "My problem initially was that I was going about it all wrong. I just assumed that whatever language these books were written in was going to be similar to this – well, of course I did. That's why I wasn't getting anywhere. Then it came to be that I happened across an account of the discovery of an ancient Sumerian tomb by explorers. Inscribed on the tomb was what they suspected to be the usual – a spell to ward off evil – but initially no one could work out quite what it said. Even the most learned men from the local area, who spoke the modern variant of the very same language, passed down through the centuries, couldn't make it out. It wasn't just that the words were different, you see, but the entire structure of the language had changed over time.

"Ultimately a record of the inscription went to a scholar who was an expert in the ancient Sumerian language, and he was able to translate it – or at least provide a better guess. But even that story wouldn't have caught my attention, if not for the sheer coincidence that one of the words of the inscription was identical to one on the cover of one of the books you gave me. And that made me realize my mistake. I had taken for granted that this language would be based on mine, but if it actually had its roots in something far older, then no wonder I wasn't making any progress!

"Of course, even if my hunch that it was similar to that ancient Sumerian tongue was correct, it wouldn't help me at all if I couldn't somehow learn the language. But what I did have was a copy of Gilgamesh – a slightly more recent compilation, but rooted firmly in the same language, you see – and a modern translation. I had never paid much attention to the original before, but I realized that by comparing it with the translation that I could understand and had read many times, I could start to decipher some of the language, do you see?

"It's patterns, Angel, it's all about the patterns! The individual words don't matter; the truth lies in the formulation of sentences and the construction of the text. And the more I started to understand how that old Sumerian tongue was put together, the more I began to see the same patterns appearing over and over in the books you gave me! With those patterns, and the similarities of some of the words, at last I had a starting point; a point from where I could properly begin to decode those books! And – and you're not remotely interested in all this, are you?"

"Not in the slightest. Though the sight of you displaying so much enthusiasm is rather entertaining."

"Oh, shut up." Disgruntled, Solomon turned back to his books, and didn't speak again for a long while. "It's so frustrating, though."

"How so?" Polite, nothing more.

"When I say it out loud like that, it sounds like I'm so close to understanding this. In reality, I think I could live a hundred lifetimes in this room and still not work it out. I can't learn all the intricacies of old Sumerian from a single text. Half the rules of the language could be missing, not to mention the influence of the author's or the translator's quirks, and the limited, very thematic vocabulary present in a lone work like that.

"And even if I could, the similarities it holds to the books you gave me are nowhere near enough to use to translate a whole new language with. Take the meanings of words as an example. Yes, there's the odd identical word, and many more with similar enough roots for me to make reliable guesses at. Then there's the labels on diagrams, which are often easy to work out, or the occasional passage where one of your books describes a pentacle or phenomena that I already know about. But that's nothing. It sounds like a lot, but compared to the sheer number of words that make up a language… It might make the task possible, but yet so difficult that it might as well still be impossible.

"Still, if only I wasn't restricted to this room! There are scholars out there who specialize in ancient Sumerian translations and who know far more than I do! If I could get one of them to teach me – or better still, to work alongside me on this project – it might actually be achievable in my lifetime! Or even if I couldn't leave, just being able to access a library or request copies of more translated material would help so much!

"But I'm stuck here, with none of those things… it's so frustrating!"

Solomon lapsed into angry silence. It wasn't the sullen tantrum of a child any more, but that dangerous raw feeling that Angel knew too well. After careful consideration, he said, "You've already accomplished more than I had thought was possible-"

"But it's not enough!" Solomon yelled. "I can do so much more! I am capable of incredible things and I hate it!"

Angel thought it best to remain silent.

"If I were a lesser man, I could be happy. I know I could. I could stay here and learn and never grow tired of discovering new things or mastering new branches of philosophy or mathematics. Except… I just can't do that. The wisdom of men bores me. I already know more than any man living, and I haven't ever left this room. Everything is trivial; with the exception of the task you set me, which is simply impossible, everything comes too easily to me! I hate that I was born with this gift! I hate it! To have wisdom that other men can only dream of, and to be locked up in a place like this is the cruellest of torments; the thought of spending the rest of my life like this is abhorrent! How can I ever be content with this life, when I am afflicted with such power – and with such pride, such greed at the thought of what I could achieve with my life? This is not God's gift to me, but his curse, and I hate it!"

Angel said, with a hint of a smile, "You've grown bitter in your old age."

"Old age? You're one to talk!" Just for a moment, Solomon could smile too, but it was only for an instant before he lapsed back into resentment. "I'm not even an adult yet by the standards of the kingdom, and yet I am capable of more than the wisest man out there. Being in this place is infuriating. Sometimes I think that if only I could get out there in the world, I'd be free, and happy. Oh, but what I'd give to be able to debate with other academics! To experience the wonders of the world for myself rather than just reading about them in books! To have access to all the literature and learning I want to keep me interested, and to use them to tackle the books you gave me-!

"But it's just a dream, isn't it? Either way, I lose. Getting out of this room means first taking up arms against my father. It means overthrowing him, and then I'll be king in his stead. The freedom to study and learn and explore and, for once, actually _live_ is just an illusion. I'll exchange one prison for another, and I'll never be happy.

"I _know _this. Do you see, Angel? I know that this is what awaits me. A life of horrendous boredom in here, or a life of mundane duties out there. But even though I know that nothing will get better, one day, I'll do it. One day, I won't be able to stop myself any more. For all my wisdom, and for all my knowledge, one day I will not be able to resist that temptation.

"I thought that I could do it, Angel. I thought that I'd be happy staying here, with my books, especially if you were here with me. But I was young, and I was stupid. I can't do it. I know that one day I won't be able to stand it any more, and I'll leave this room… and I'll become king. After everything, you'll have won."

If he had been paying attention, Solomon might have found the emotion that displayed ever so briefly on the other's face a surprising one. But he was not paying attention to anyone but himself, and when Angel spoke out loud, he was once more perfectly in control. In the lightness of his voice, there was no trace of the hurt that had been there for just a second.

"You do realize that I have absolutely no power to make you king, right?"

Solomon blinked at him. Bemusement temporarily drowned out anger. "What?"

"I thought you had figured that out ages ago."

"But… all those years ago, you said-"

"I lied," Angel told him cheerfully. "I do that sometimes. It keeps things interesting."

"But-! I don't understand. You can't-"

"Well, think about it. To make you king, first I'd have to kill the current king, which just sounds like a hassle. Then I'd have to somehow convince everyone that the kid locked up in the tower is actually his illegitimate child, and, despite that he's never left said tower in his life, and has no political contacts or personal power whatsoever, he's definitely the best person to succeed to the throne – I mean, just _thinking_ about it is too much effort."

"But you're-"

"You're the one who ascribed to me the power to make things happen just by saying them. I certainly could never force you to become king of this country against your will."

Solomon stared at Angel, his face a picture of incomprehension – and, unfortunately, hope. "Then… things might not happen that way? Are you saying that I might one day be able to leave this place by ordinary means, and never have to become king?"

Angel told him softly, "That's not what I'm saying – only that it has nothing to do with me."

"Angel?"

"I can only say to you again what I did on the first day we met; one day, you will definitely be king."

"…Why?" Angel did not answer him. He persisted, desperately, "Why? How can you say that so surely, Angel? How can you know that?"

A sigh. "In the same way I knew that it was always my lot to fall from Heaven."

"…Because it is God's will."

"Because you are the one He has chosen to rule over man and demon in this place. You are the one to whom He has given this power, and so you must use it in the way He has already decreed it must be used. You, who are superior to all men, cannot be content until the world has recognized that superiority… it is impossible for you to be happy with mediocrity or isolation; unless you are pushing your own limits and discovering new things, you will always be frustrated with what you have… isn't that right?"

"I hate it," Solomon whispered. And then, louder: "I hate it! Why me? I don't want any of that! I don't want this power, and I especially don't want to have to use it as king… It's not fair."

Angel said nothing. Solomon struck the ground with his fist. He knew how foolish and immature he must look in front of the other, but all mental attempts to calm himself were futile. Angel made it look so easy.

"Why aren't you angry?" Solomon demanded. "How do you do it, Angel?"

"In truth," said Angel, "I am angry. And I carry with me so much hatred… but what's the use in it? Where will it get me? This wasn't my choice, but it's as you said to me some time ago – I'm not unhappy. Perhaps I should resent it, but right here, right now, what good will that do me? For one thing, I know that I'm very dangerous when I'm angry… and I don't want to be like that around you."

"I like you as you are," said Solomon, and then before Angel could mock him for his poorly thought out choice of words, he added, "And I don't want to seem childish around you, though I suppose it's already too late for that."

"Just a little."

Even in just a short space of time, Solomon found that he was already feeling happier within himself. Talking with Angel was different to talking with the guards, even the couple of them who had actually come to treat their prisoner as a human being, and would hold discussions with him once in a while when they brought him food. The humans he had spoken to were kind but uninteresting; initially, he had thought Angel to be the complete opposite, but he had come to learn that, in his own way, Angel was ever so compassionate. Then even when the guards were being friendly, the fact always remained that he was their prisoner – however much they might have respected his intellect or cared about him. That meaningful divide between them restricted their friendships to careful ones and their interactions to predominantly polite formalities.

With Angel, that wasn't the case. For the two of them, the gulf between their experience, knowledge and power was overwhelmingly vast – so much so that it had perhaps ceased to have any meaning at all. At the heart of it, they understood each other. No, more than that: Solomon was only now beginning to realize what Angel had suspected all along, that they were so very alike. Sympathy had transcended boundaries; had it also brought friendship to a most unlikely place? How had he not understood this before now?

But…

"Angel, we're friends, aren't we?"

The question seemed to surprise Angel. "I suppose so."

"Then, can I touch you?"

Angel stared at him. Solomon glared back. "What?" he demanded, a little warily.

"Well, you know how I have a habit of slightly misconstruing the things that you say…"

"Ah!" Face shining red, Solomon seized the closest thing to him – a priceless philosophical text – and hurled it at the other.

Angel ducked it easily, and it sailed on out of the window. Then, almost lazily, he turned, reached out, and snatched it out of the air with one hand. "Careful," he chided, grinning, and tossed the book back to Solomon.

"You know that's not what I meant," Solomon told him, peeved.

"I guessed, but I'm struggling to understand what it is that you _did_ mean by that."

"You're always so far away. Just once, I'd like to feel you near me, and know that you are real."

"Why?" Utterly mystified.

"It's just a feeling. I don't know why, but I think it might be because I'm human."

Angel gave a genuine laugh. "Well, if it really means so much to you…"

"Now which one of us is being sweet?" But Solomon didn't want to provoke the other into changing his mind, so he navigated his way swiftly between the towers of books until the two were stood facing each other. He placed the palm of his right hand against that of Angel's left, and closed his eyes.

Angel endured this patiently for a moment or two, and then asked, "Are you done?"

"I suppose." Then: "I want to touch your wings."

"Now there I am going to draw a line."

"Why?"

Disgruntled. "I'm not a bird, you know."

"That's not really an answer."

"Clearly what I should have brought you all those years ago was a book on acceptable social beha-"

His words cut off so suddenly that Solomon felt a stab of alarm even before Angel fell. The other was no longer stood in front of him, but falling bodily against him, as if pushed from behind by an invisible hand, or-

There was a moment of stunned confusion with Solomon supporting that extraordinarily-light, terrifyingly-lifeless body, and then Angel was once more himself, and alarmingly so. His hand shot forwards and pushed Solomon away with enough force to send him toppling over backwards, into a pile of books. Overextended, Angel would have followed him if not for his abnormally-fast reflexes allowing him to catch and support himself on the wall. He stared down at the prone Solomon without seeing him, that single action enough to convert all of Solomon's indignation back to fear in an instant.

"Angel?"

He looked away. "Forgive me, Solomon."

"What happened?" In his mind's eye, he saw once again Angel falling from the tower of books, and his concern grew. And there was more than that, too. He thought over all the times Angel had visited him since then, and saw in an instant what no one but him would have noticed. He had always been careful to lean against the wall, or sit with something at his back; there had also, of course, always been many periods of silence on Angel's behalf, now he wondered if they weren't all just the other's lack of interest in the conversation after all. Why hadn't he paid more attention? "Angel! What happened?"

"I can't keep this up," Angel murmured.

He didn't seem to be talking to Solomon, so he demanded, "Can't keep what up? Angel?"

"It's always worse when I'm in this world."

"Talk to me, Angel!"

"I probably shouldn't come back."

"I'd be very lonely if you did that."

At this, Angel looked up and seemed to notice him for the first time. "As would I. But I don't have a choice. If I stay, this will only get worse."

"I-" Solomon found that he didn't know what to say. Since Angel had started coming by on a regular basis, he had always known that it was just a matter of time before he tired of the human's company and left for good, but for him to say goodbye so suddenly – well, Solomon had come to think that they were closer than that, but maybe it was just his fallible belief after all. Perhaps it was his fault for not seeing the signs. The thought upset him more than it should have done – then again, Angel wasn't just the only friend he had ever had, but also the only person he had ever really known. Without him, he would be truly alone.

"Does it have to be so sudden?"

"Yes."

"…Are you going to tell me why?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You know, if I'd known you were going to get so sentimental, I'd have left without warning."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"No. Funny, that."

Solomon scowled. "Angel, if you leave, I don't think I'll be able to keep fighting."

"Yes, you will. You've never had a problem before. Keep working at those translations, and I have every faith that you'll be able to achieve something remarkable."

"You were the one who told me that was an impossible task. Was that another lie?"

"No, that was the truth. I simply turned out to be mistaken. It happens. Occasionally. Well, hardly ever-"

"If I ever manage to translate them all, what will happen?"

"Now, now, Solomon," Angel smiled. "You should know better than to ask me that."

"In that case, I suppose I'll have to find out for myself."

"That's more like it. Farewell, Solomon."

It was too sudden and too unexpected for Solomon to say anything else. Even by the time he managed his own "Farewell," the other was gone. A little bit angry, and a little bit confused, and a little bit still in shock, he sat in the window, on Angel's usual seat.

When it became clear that the other wasn't coming back, he gave up waiting and went back to work.


	5. Act V

_**A/N:** The final chapter, and my (somewhat ineffectual) attempt to reconcile this story so far with canon. Ah well. I enjoyed writing it anyway. I hope you've enjoyed reading it, and that you like the conclusion! ~CS_

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><p><strong>The Devil and the King of Israel, Act V<strong>

_By CrimsonStarbird_

* * *

><p>After a month or so of half-hearted waiting, Solomon had all but forgotten about being lonely. Isolation lent itself to productivity, and in the hands of Solomon the Wise, productivity could be a dangerous thing. If the progressive cycle of his day to day life was monotonous, then it was also inexorable, edging closer and closer to the truth with each passing hour. He had already proven that he was capable of accomplishing the impossible; now, it was only a matter of time, and that was something he had in abundance.<p>

So it came to pass that, almost two years after he had last seen Angel, Solomon found himself stood once again within a magic circle, trembling with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. This summoning circle was one of his own design. That first day when he had clumsily copied a design out of a textbook, as ignorant of the true power of the words and symbols he invoked as the book's human scribe had ultimately been, was a distant memory. He had grown since then, both in wisdom and maturity. He had constructed the circle himself, fully aware of the meaning behind each chalk line he inscribed; choosing with care every last word from a language he had become perfectly fluent in.

Solomon had grown physically as well as mentally, finally crossing over the boundary into adulthood. He had become the dashingly-handsome young man that Angel had predicted, something he himself had been unaware of until enough of his guards had joked about introducing him to their daughters for him to realize that they weren't in fact making fun of him. Tall and attractive, composed and charming, and perfectly confident within himself – he was a powerful man, and, if he had given it any thought, an almost ideal prince.

Today was the day that he had been working towards, without even realizing it, for the whole of his life. Today he would realize his true power. Today he would prove to Angel, prove to God, and prove – most importantly – to himself, what he could do. He had come to understand how foolish and naïve he had been on that day, almost eight years ago now, when he had summoned – when he had _believed_ he had summoned – Angel, and today he was going to make amends for that.

His heart was pounding with excitement. He raised his hand, displaying the silver Ring of Wisdom proudly. The chalk circle responded with a faint glow of its own. This was it. This was proper demon-summoning. Abandoning his own mundane language, he slipped into the archaic tongue of power that no other human knew but him, and wove the lengthy incantation that would bring together Hell and Earth and summon a minor demon into his circle.

Solomon had never doubted that it would work; after all, how many nights had he spent agonizing over this one ritual, ensuring that everything was perfect? Nor was he modest about his own formidable power. So when the ethereal light flashed and the tower shook and thunder boomed within the walls of his prison, he felt only satisfaction where a lesser man would have experienced fear.

The creature that appeared before him looked nothing like Angel. Solomon had been expecting this, of course. Angel was stunningly beautiful, as he should have been; this monster was far inferior, as Solomon had at last come to acknowledge the advantage of beginning cautiously, despite his God-given gifts.

"Demon!" he commanded. "By my own power, and by the authority of my Ring of Wisdom, I have summoned and bound you! You must obey my commands! I order you not to leave the circle of constraint!"

The magic circle shone brighter. Solomon smiled. This time, things were going to work out – except the demon had other plans. All teeth and horns and powerful limbs, it did not take kindly to being imprisoned. When its red eyes fell upon Solomon, rage drove it to step to the edge of the circle. Solomon waited patiently, watching with eager anticipation as the monster raised its foot to the circumference, and passed over it.

Nothing happened. Solomon frowned. That wasn't right at all. Angel had been able to leave the circle, but he was Angel, and besides, Solomon had checked and double-checked everything this time, and there was no way that that demon should have been able to overcome his magic. While the young man stood there in surprise, the brutish demon had no such hesitation. In the absence of any retribution, it picked up pace, rushing towards its would-be master with hatred in its eyes.

_Dismissal_, Solomon thought frantically. _Dismissal! _But the incantation he had memorized for the miniscule chance that something might go wrong had fled from his mind at the first sense of danger. Fear was a new emotion to Solomon; his first time experiencing the grip of its panic would also be his last.

Only inches away from Solomon's unprotected body, the demon froze. Its eyes opened wide. Then, just as inexplicably, it shattered like a dropped vase. Fragments of light burst out from it in all directions, dissipating harmlessly upon contact with the walls.

At the centre of the explosion stood Angel. One hand was outstretched; his wings were strained to their fullest extent. On his face was an expression Solomon had never seen him wear before. He was abruptly reminded of something that Angel had said to him: _I'm very dangerous when I'm angry_. And: _I don't want to be like that around you_. Looking at his friend, and seeing him for the first time as a stranger, Solomon felt fear, and thought at last he understood those words.

Then the moment passed. Angel's body visibly relaxed; his arm returned to his side. Sighing, he shook his head. "Geez," he remarked, and his easy words were a sharp contrast to his prior severity. "Talk about being careless…"

At the other side of the room, Solomon folded his arms. "I'm not going to thank you."

Angel said, "I rather thought you might apologize."

"I'm not doing that either."

"An explanation, then. You owe me that much."

Petulantly, as if he were still the child that had first met Angel, Solomon scowled. The other wasn't having any of it. Though he was doing his best to hold on to his good humour, there was still anger in the tense rise and fall of his chest, and the narrowed set of his eyes. Regardless of his humiliation and resentment, it was not the time for Solomon to be fooling around with him.

With an angry gesture, Solomon growled, "Sit down, then, if you're going to stay."

Angel sat in his customary place on the windowsill; Solomon paced between his rows of books. He thought for a while, and then began, "I didn't understand. Do you see that, Angel? I read all the books I had, written by the greatest human philosophers and theologians and magicians, and understood everything. Then I read the books you gave me, and though it took more time, I came to understand those too. But the more I learnt, the more I realized that there was one thing I didn't understand at all: you."

"How so?" Angel knew perfectly well; he merely wanted to hear Solomon's view on the matter.

"These books told me everything that I could possibly need to know about summoning demons – magic circles, protective wards, invocations, the names and commands required to draw a particular target to you. The knowledge gathered by human scholars of Hell and Earth-bound experimentalist magicians is fragmented at best, and often completely wrong." He exhaled slowly. "Even with the knowledge I have now, I don't think I could summon you, and I certainly couldn't bind you or make you do anything that I wanted. If that's really all there is to it, then what I did eight years ago, or however long ago it was, when I was young and completely ignorant, must have been laughable. And so I couldn't comprehend why you came to me on that day, let alone why you listened to anything that I said."

Angel rested his chin on his hand and said nothing.

"What I wanted was to understand. I couldn't well ask you, because you'd disappeared off to God knows where-" Here bitterness entered his voice, though he seemed unaware of it himself "-and you probably wouldn't answer me anyway, after what happened last time. So I wondered if it was all for nothing, this so-called Wisdom of God; this special ring and the power it supposedly contained. I wanted to find out if I had ever had any ability at all, so I set myself the task of summoning and binding a minor demon. If I could do it, perhaps I could come closer to understanding something about myself; something about you. That's all there is to it."

Again, Angel gave no verbal response. Restless, Solomon demanded, "Alright, I've answered your question, Angel, now answer mine. On that day, why did you appear before me? Why did you converse with me, and why on earth did you ever do anything that I asked?"

Angel spent so long thinking about his answer that Solomon feared he wasn't going to respond. When he finally did, he spoke with all the unrivalled cheerfulness that Solomon remembered. "Whimsy."

"I… you… what?"

"I'm a very whimsical person, Solomon. It's one of my better qualities."

"You…?"

"I was bored. I heard you calling my name – you, a child chosen by God, wielding a supremely dangerous artefact, yet almost ignorant of your true power – and I thought to myself, _Well, I sure don't have anything better to do right now_. So I came. Besides, I had a hunch that you might turn out to be interesting."

Solomon just stared at him. Angel grinned back. "Does that really surprise you?"

"Not as much as it should do, I suppose. It does sound like the sort of preposterous thing you'd do."

"You're learning, I see."

"Then, I never did bind you to my will, or have any power over you at all."

"Of course not. No human can bind me, not even you. Or so I thought, anyway."

"What do you mean by that?"

"That there are ways of ensnaring someone other than by magic. Of all people, I really should have known that."

"I don't understand."

"And there I thought you were supposed to be the sentimental one."

For all his wisdom, Solomon had never had the chance to develop his people skills, or learn to accurately read other people, in his tower. Still, he thought he understood the gist of what Angel was getting at, and wondered how deep it ran. For the first time, he wondered if Angel had missed his company as much as he had missed his over the past two years. They were friends, weren't they? Despite all their differences, they still got along; despite their separation, it seemed as if nothing had changed.

Uncomfortable beneath Solomon's scrutinizing gaze, Angel shifted his position on the windowsill. "Are you done with your questions yet? I don't much like being interrogated."

"Not by a long way." Angel groaned; Solomon ignored him. He knew that if Angel really didn't want to have this conversation, he would simply stop responding, as he had done so many times before. While he re-arranged his thoughts, putting the burning questions in his mind into an acceptable order, he gave up pacing and walked over to where Angel was sat. The other watched him dubiously, but he simply sat on the floor below the window, with his back to the wall. "Why didn't the binding work this time? I did everything right, I know I did."

In a measured tone, Angel told him, "You can summon demons, but you can't bind them, regardless of your power… not without my permission."

"But I have accounts of it being done before. Or were they just cases of demons playing around, like you?"

"There are certain times when Hell is vulnerable, and it can be done then. Now is not one of those times… not yet."

Solomon wanted to ask more, but judged from the other's tone that it wasn't a good idea. Instead, he changed tack. "If I would never be able to bind demons, then why did you give me all those books?"

"I wanted to see if you could do it."

"Why?"

"It was just a feeling. And you didn't let me down."

"There's more to it than that, isn't there, Angel?"

The other seemed amused. "Not at the time, there wasn't. Though, my instincts usually turn out to be right."

"About what?"

"About you."

"That's not helpful."

"Maybe I'll explain. Maybe I won't. I haven't decided yet."

"That's surprisingly fair of you." Solomon grinned, even though he knew the other wouldn't be able to see. "You're being awfully talkative today, Angel."

"Am I? That's nice of me. Would you prefer it if I stopped?"

"Not at all. It's good to finally have some answers. Not to mention, having somebody intelligent to talk to makes a nice change. I've missed you."

"Well, aren't you adorable?"

"_I _thought so," Solomon replied amicably. "I'm glad you agree."

After a moment's pause, Angel burst into laughter. "You've grown, Solomon."

"It doesn't matter to me any more what you think. I care about you, and that's the truth. It's not just that you're the most important person in my life – you're the _only _person in my life, and you always have been. I probably shouldn't trust you, but I do. I probably shouldn't enjoy spending time with you, but I do." Angel said nothing. In the worrying - but, really, predictable - silence, Solomon added quietly, "Why did you come back?"

Stirring, Angel answered, "I felt someone interfering in my domain… figuratively speaking, of course. I thought that the only person stupid enough to do that would be you, and thus that you were probably in danger."

Even more quietly, Solomon said, "Thank you. For saving my life."

"That's alright. Though, to think that you would be foolish enough to put yourself out there without memorizing a dismissal beforehand…"

"I did have a dismissal ready! I just forgot it in the heat of the moment, that's all."

"How very human of you."

"Can't help that," Solomon grunted. "Besides, it's not a mistake I'll make again."

Angel did not respond. At first, Solomon thought he had just lost interest in the conversation – and then he remembered Angel's tendency to pass out, or whatever it was, that had caused him to leave the first time. Alarmed, he jumped to his feet and turned around, only to find that Angel was watching him curiously. "What?"

"Nothing." Then: "I'm glad to see that you're well, though. When you left like that, you sort of made it out like you were dying or something."

"I am dying. Well, sort of. As for being better, I'm not at all, but I can suppress it more easily when I'm in my own world, so it might not seem too bad right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Again with the questions! Aren't you satisfied yet?"

Solomon reached out to him; quick as a flash, Angel seized his wrist. His eyes were slightly narrowed as he stated, "Enough of the touching."

"You can't just tell me that you're _sort of dying_ and then expect me to be okay with that!" Solomon snapped. Annoyed, he snatched his wrist back; glared at the other. "This is one question that you absolutely have to answer. What's going on?"

In the long, drawn-out silence, Solomon refused to give up. He had to believe the other would answer; he was certain that if they truly were friends, then he would explain. "I… need to rest," Angel told him softly, reluctantly. "I'm not dying as you humans would use the term, but… because I have been alive for so long, my body starts to break down. My powers decay; it becomes more and more difficult to do things that came easily to me before – like crossing between the worlds, for example. When this happens, I need to rest. I suppose you could call it hibernation, if you were so inclined. It allows my body to recover, and my vast powers to regenerate. I can put it off almost indefinitely, but I will grow weaker and weaker physically and mentally until I am almost at death… this degeneration is much easier to suppress while I am in my own world. I couldn't have stayed here the way I was; that's why I had to leave. That's why I can't stay now."

"Why did you not just go and sleep?"

"This first started coming on just after you summoned me for the second time. If I had done so then, I would almost certainly not have awoken during your lifetime… so I tried instead to suppress it for as long as I could."

"See, I knew you cared about me!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself. You were interesting, that's all. Humans like you don't come along very often. It would have been a waste to sleep through the only interesting time there's been in a while, and then be awake for all the boring centuries to come."

"Excuses, excuses," grinned Solomon.

"Believe what you wish."

"Say, Angel, what happens to Hell while you're asleep? Those are the periods of vulnerability you mentioned earlier, right?"

"Indeed. And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure. Things are very different now to how they were when I last had to sleep. I don't feel comfortable this time about leaving my domain without a leader, so I've given it some thought… and the only person I'd really feel happy about leaving in charge is you."

Solomon stared at Angel intently, who blinked innocently back. When his scrutiny didn't turn up the answers he was hoping for, he asked, "You're joking, right?"

"When do I ever joke around?"

"All the time!"

"Fair point. But this time, I'm serious."

"Why? I'm not even a demon!"

"Really? I never noticed."

Not even slightly amused, Solomon snapped back, "But I'm not at all qualified!"

"I disagree. You are, in fact, uniquely qualified."

"How so?"

"You are Solomon the Wise, the Chosen of God. He has bestowed upon you the power to summon and control demons, and the wisdom to understand how this might be done. All this, to coincide with my own need to withdraw from the world and leave my kingdom vulnerable… it was not at all chance; you know that as well as I, now. You will end up binding and ruling over demons, as well as mankind, whether you like it or not, because that is God's desire. It will also come to pass whether _I_ like it or not, and of course I wasn't overly keen on the idea – so the least I can do is try to ensure that it happens on my own terms, do you see?"

"Then, is that why, along with the books on summoning, there were also texts on the history and power structure of Hell in the volumes you gave me?"

"You're a smart kid, but as I said, that was just a whim. As it turned out, it was serendipity, and not misfortune, that guided my hand."

"But… I can't do something like that!"

"Where has this modesty come from, all of a sudden?" Angel laughed. "Of course you can."

"But today-"

"Oh, I never said it would be easy. Even for someone granted the power of God, sealing demons and keeping them under control is no trivial matter. You still have a lot to learn, and you'll still make mistakes. You're only human, after all. But you can do it. I know you can."

"I'm flattered by your faith in me," Solomon tried, uneasily, "But, it wouldn't feel right. With you, and everything-"

"Solomon," Angel interrupted, voice layered with the patronizing patience of an adult addressing a child. "This is the last time I can ever come and see you. Even if I do postpone resting even further, I have already deteriorated to the point where leaving Hell of my own volition is a challenge. I almost didn't make it today, and… that scared me, Solomon. And not a lot of things can do that, do you see? I need to rest, which means I'll need to say goodbye to you, for the final time."

"Then I shall be very lonely, though I don't see-"

"But that's the thing, Solomon! If you use your talents in the way that you have always been meant to; in the way that I am asking you to; in the way that you in your heart want to, to prove yourself-! Then, I can promise you this: you will never be lonely."

In the silence, Solomon averted his gaze. "If there are others like you," he murmured, "Then I should very much like to meet them."

"I am sure that you will. Although it will take time, I think you will find yourself some loyal friends… and I can promise you that it will be a hundred times more exciting than the company of mortal men."

"Provided I don't get eaten."

"Well, yes, but what's life without a little danger? Besides, as I already told you, that was a combination of amateurish technique and a poor choice of target. All your fault. Just saying."

"Shut up! It was my first time, alright?"

"That's not true. I was your first."

Startled, Solomon looked up at Angel's charming smile. "Y-yeah," he stammered, and then: "How can you say that so seriously, knowing that if they were my words, you'd have twisted them into some sort of humiliating euphemism?"

"Beats me." As irrepressible as ever.

"You know something, Angel?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not at all like they say in the stories."

"Then you'll just have to re-write the books for me, won't you?"

"I don't think I will," Solomon rebuffed him, and grinned. "It's selfish of me, but I'd rather like to keep you like this all to myself."

"It doesn't matter to me either way," Angel shrugged. "But Solomon, you are so endearingly romantic…"

"Oh, shut up," he retorted, but not harshly. With a sigh, he looked past Angel's seated form and out of the window. The hour was late, and the sky was a beautiful palette of blues. There were no clouds to reflect the rosy gold of the setting sun; it had been a hot and clear day, and it would soon be a cold and clear night. "It's getting late," Solomon commented. It was entirely unnecessary – and hardly a comment befitting a man of legendary wisdom – but on the other hand, it was just one of those things that people said.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't elicit a response. For his part, Angel had closed his eyes, and half-sat, half-lay peacefully on the wide stone sill. "Angel?" Solomon murmured gently. "Are you alright?" When that got no reply either, he poked him.

This got a reaction; Solomon found, gratefully, that he preferred that sudden defensive alarm to the prior absence of any signs of life. "What?" scowled the other.

"I was just wondering if you were still with me."

"Oh… sorry. I can't really stay for much longer. I need to go, before I become unable to leave this world."

"I know," the young man acceded. "But Angel, won't you stay a little while? I know it'll be hard on you, but, please… won't you at least stay until I fall asleep?"

"I…"

"Please, Angel."

"If you insist."

So he stayed. That evening, the two of them spoke about a great many things. Sometimes, Angel was serious, and they talked, as equals, about the state of Hell, the nature of mankind, their contract, Solomon's role, his inevitable fate, and his hope for the future. Sometimes, he wasn't serious, and joked with the same good-natured humour Solomon had come to expect, teasing the young man in the same way that he, as a mighty alien being, had once teased the young boy. Always, though, it was as a friend, and Solomon, who had long since grown past the point of feeling offended easily, took it all in good faith, and often gave as good as he got.

Still, night came eventually, as it always did. As much as Solomon was prepared to battle his exhaustion with all the willpower available to him, he knew that Angel was suffering much more for this one night than he was, and so he accepted the inevitability of their parting, and they said farewell. Solomon found that he was more emotional than he wanted to admit to being. Angel seemed as composed as ever, though Solomon hoped – suspected – that he was a little upset too.

It came to pass that Solomon lay in his bed, and Angel, who had promised to stay until he slept, sat cross-legged on the floor at its foot. Occasionally Solomon spoke, just to check the other was still there; he received a bemused response every time.

Finally, Solomon said, "I'm still not sure about the future."

"It's not like you to be so doubtful, especially when it's your talents in question."

"It's not that. It's just… Keeping Hell under control is a bit…"

Unperturbed, Angel said, "I know you can do it. And if, at the end, you still don't think it's right for a human to have that role, then choose someone else. I know you'll make a good choice. I trust you."

"That's nice of you, but…" Tiredness overcame him; swept the words from his mouth. Floundering, he tried, "But it's still not what I'd have chosen in life. It's like being king, I suppose. I still don't want to do it. I just want to stay here, with someone to talk to, whom I could never grow bored of being with… I still don't want whatever God has in store for me.

"You know what else, Angel? I'm okay with that. It's not what I want, but it might not be as bad as I feared. Especially if I can meet some more people like you – especially if, one day, I might be free to sit and study with all the resources I could possibly need. But even if that doesn't happen, I'm not unhappy. I said that when I was young and stupid; now that I am older, I feel that I can say it with all sincerity. In these past few years with you, I've been so happy. Even though I can't ever see you again, I'll always have those memories, along with everything you've ever done for me. I'll do whatever I have to do in the future – for you, for God, or for this kingdom. Because of that, I got to meet you. And I wouldn't change that for anything. I'm happy, Angel. And I want to thank you for that… I want to thank you for everything."

He lapsed into weary silence. If he could have seen through the darkness, he might have recognized that sad smile on the other's face, or the sorrow in his eyes.

"Goodnight, Solomon," was all that he said.

The young man was already asleep.

* * *

><p>Angel remained sat there for a while, drifting in and out of consciousness, thinking about lots of things and nothing at all, balancing the need to leave with the inexplicable desire to stay just a little longer. At some point, when the stars were shining brightly, he stood up, and walked around the room one final time. Though well aware that the other was fast asleep, he spoke anyway. Perhaps he was addressing himself; perhaps someone else entirely.<p>

"An eternity of solitude, all for the sake of meeting him, huh? When you put it that way, I suppose it isn't that bad an exchange after all. If you arranged this, I might just have to forgive you." Then he added, "What a romantic thought," and laughed dryly.

He watched Solomon sleep for a moment, all peaceful and content. "I hope it all works out for you, my friend. I'm sure you will find others who will come love you just as much as I have." And he vanished into the night.

* * *

><p>By the time Solomon awoke, the sky had assumed its promised cloudless pale blue. The stars which had witnessed their final parting had gone now, all save for one: the morning star, still holding its own against the dominance of the rising sun, remained a beacon of hope for lost and lonely travellers. A feather rested on his pillow, long and white and far too perfect to have been shed by any mortal creature.<p>

Solomon's hand curled tightly around it. "Goodnight, my beloved Lucifer," whispered he. "Someday, in a place beyond this world, I am sure that we shall meet again."


End file.
